


Blind Date

by justlovebt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anonymity, Blindfolds, Desire, F/F, Fantasy, Femslash, First Time, MENTION OF:, Masturbation, Prompt Fic, Sexual Content, Swan Queen Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlovebt/pseuds/justlovebt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Anonymous texts, dripping of passion and desire, have Emma Swan on edge for weeks until she gives in to the plea of her body to be touched… Blindfolded she gets to enjoy the undivided attention of her secret admirer. If only she could blindfold her heart as well as her eyes. SWANQUEEN, rating due to... well... *shrugs and winks*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts have a weird effect on my little brain at times. When I got acquainted (too late ;)) with the Sunday one of Swan Queen week, this immediately started to sprout from my fingers. (Thank you, my friend! You know who you are...) It’s not the usual kind of story (ahum LOL) I write but, well, new-year’s resolutions to push my own boundaries kinda worked I guess hahaha.
> 
> And now that it exists, I might as well throw it out there, hopefully providing some enjoyment for my lovely fellow SQ-shippers.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the 'Once upon a time' characters. I wish I did but I don't think I have a Fairy Godmother.

**Blind date.**

Emma swallows as she feels the black velvet cover her eyes, effectively blinding her. Soft hands ( _women’s hands?)_ find her shoulders and she shivers in response to the careful caress, fingertips grazing, slowly finding their way to the side of her breasts. She feels a breath of air against her ear before soft lips ( _surely women’s lips)_  finding the spot of her neck where she is  _so_  sensitive she can’t help but moan and arc into the stranger’s touches, oddly not caring about the lack of control.

It’s the smell, she thinks, that is familiar. Or maybe it’s the touch, which, even though she is sure she’s never experienced it before, makes her feel something she hasn’t ever felt until this very moment. HOME.

She pushes herself backwards, feeling the shape of breasts ply against her back, groaning at the surge of wetness  _that_  evokes between her legs. It’s been too long since she’s felt any touch, but a woman’s always has had a way of surging a fire in her…

Hands now cup her breasts through her tanktop, fondling the hard tips that strain against the fabric and she gasps, steadying herself against the form behind her, when she feels one of the hands sliding down. Lips and tongue make a trail from her neck to her ear and she arcs again, giving the woman more access.

The throbbing increases in such an agonizing torture Emma had to clutch her thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction in the place she needs it most. The texts she had received from the anonymous number had brought her on edge for weeks, forcing her to ‘take care of business’ sometimes multiple times a day. The strength of her own urges surprises her and makes her turn, allowing her invisible lover to gasp as she pulls the woman closer, allowing their legs to entwine.

‘Who are you?’

She whispers the words, hoarse, not sure she wants to hear the answer, because if she is wrong, if this is not the woman she wants it,  _needs it_  to be, she does no longer have the hope the fantasy brings her. So she is almost relieved when she feels a finger on her lips and then starts to tremble when she feels the full lips hover before her own, offering themselves it seems…

And it turns out to be an offer she cannot refuse…

She captures the softness before her and hears the moan (not her own this time) vibrate through her as the body is pressed, in what seems unintended but very efficient seduction, closer to hers. A thigh slides smoothly in between hers, finding her center, eliciting another gasp and the soft, skilled tongue passes her parted lips, challenging hers for a passionate duel. Hands seem to be everywhere, sliding from her hair down her spine, tracing, with the lightest touch, the back pockets of her jeans before allowing palms to grasp her cheeks fully, pulling her closer.

The whimper at the loss of lips turns into a moan when she is kissed again, softly this time, again and again in a rapid succession of pecks on various places, from her jaw to her mouth. Hands move to the back of her thighs, making her grind against them in utter need.

‘Please…’

She envisions  _her_ , full lips smirking at the plea yet dark eyes full of desire to comply. The fantasy makes her impossibly more wet, makes her want to take her lover’s teasing hand and press it against the throbbing ache. The word falls from her lips again while fingertips graze a hardened nipple and she pushes herself forward, capturing an open mouth in the most erotic, lazy, tormenting kiss she has ever tasted. She allows her own hands to explore now, expecting a reprimanding slap at any moment, but not receiving any as they find silk covered shoulders, sliding down the lapel of the unknown garment she quickly identifies as a robe.

She does it again and moans into her lover’s mouth as she can see the mental image of the woman she yearns for, in a black silk robe. She hesitates before letting her fingers slide down, feeling the slight tremble of her lover as a featherlight vibration under her fingertips.

‘May I?’

She breathes the words into a soft neck, the smell intoxicating her and hopes to hear the voice,  _her_  voice answering the one small word she wants to hear.

But the response comes in a touch, a hand covering hers, fingers entwining in an almost casual gesture before sliding the conjoined hands down under the silk. Her breathing falters when she feels the softness of breast meet the tautness of nipple. And the soft groan that her touch evokes makes her pull the woman impossibly closer, kissing her hungrily again as her fingers continue to stroke the sensitive skin. She cups the weight of a breast in her hand, biting her own and the other’s bottom lip as a result of the rush of pleasure rippling through her. She wants to pull back and apologize, afraid she has hurt the other woman, but the kiss only deepens and her hand gets guided once more, this time allowed to fondle the other breast, the swollen nipple caressing the palm of her hand and, although reluctantly, she allows her mouth to detach from the sweetness its emerged in. Only able to do so by promising it an equally enticing prize.

Trailing a path with her tongue down the long neck, she follows the silk until the strong, shivery response tells her to move the fabric aside. Alternating small kisses with licks, she traces circles on the soft, pliable breast, inching closer to its desired center. When she finally claims her prize, grazing her teeth softly against it, rousing a sound that comes closest to a purr, she can’t help but want to hear again… And again… And again. For, what she realizes, the rest of her life.

She pushes the pathetic and terrifying thought to the back of her head, knowing to only take what is offered and never hope for anything more. The images, flashing through her, arousing her, are already going too far, she knows, but she cannot stop to fantasize  _her._ Can not help but yearn and  _want._

So she does. She wants. She obeys the soft hands around her waist, guiding her back until the backs of her knees meet wood. She trusts the slight push and sits down on what she knows must be the hotel’s queen sized bed she has caught a glimpse of before she was blindfolded.

She feels the question in the way the woman lets her hands slide to the bottom of her tanktop and only raises her arms in response, winning a tantalizingly soft kiss before the garment is pulled off of her and cast aside. She reaches back herself to the clasp of her bra, but her fingers are covered by others, trembling taking over the task. The other woman’s breathing is heavy, the rhythm of it spurring Emma into action and she pulls her in, finding the grateful patch of skin right below the earlobe. The purring sound is her reward and she feels how the shaking hands seem to become impatient, now pulling away the bra still half covering her breasts in an almost aggressive movement.

Hands find her shoulders and she gets pushed back against the mattress, the body following her movement and pressing against hers, the smooth thigh sliding between hers making her tighten muscles she never knew to have control over. The sensitive nub contracts against the grinding contact, almost pushing her to cry out which she only can prevent to do by kissing, passionately, the lips hovering above hers. She allows her hand to find the knee which rests next to her upper leg, sliding up slightly, hesitantly, giving the woman the chance to demonstrate any form of protest to the touch. But when the kiss is only deepened, she explores the softness under the silk of the robe, finding lace panties that make her squirm.

‘Oh, god…’

She allows it again, can see  _her_ eyes darken that impossible little bit more, see the eyebrow move and can almost hear the ‘Do you like that, Miss Swan?`.

But thoughts lose track of themselves when teeth nip at her collarbone and her body arcs up in spite of what she might want to tell it to do. She can hardly breathe through the thick haze of desire, covering her like a blanket, or more likely, like the tempting body on top of her. She feels the tip of the woman’s tongue, warm and probing, finding all those places that make her gasp, her nipples tensing that incredibly bit extra in anticipation of the lips that eventually, finally, capture one between them, while fingertips find the other. She utters sounds she’s never heard herself make, sounds which would, in any other moment, have embarrassed her. But although her cheeks are radiating heat, it is not one of shame. She bucks her hips forward, hoping her lover will take the hint she can no longer speak, her tongue now only able to please not talk.

Her own fingertips trace the lace and the small sounds she elicits when she finds inner thigh give her the courage she needs to scratch the skin lightly before cupping the woman’s fabric-covered center in her palm.

The dampness she finds, adds to the one she knows is forming between her own legs and she sighs in relief as fingers find the button of her jeans, opening the garment and sliding a hand down to, shortly, mimic the blonde’s movement.

She pushes her center against the palm, a rippling contraction of pleasure causing her to groan against the woman’s neck and presses her own hand tighter against her lover, the soaked fabric in her hand feeling so… forbidden… making her think of long and boring town-meetings where glimpses of cleavage and the clicking of heels had evoked _such_  wetness in her. Making her remember the amounts of time she had had to excuse herself to go to the bathroom and let her fingers explore the soaked, swollen area, not taking any time to tease, as her lover is doing now by pulling her hand away, but just violently and silently coming against her own hand, trying to release some of the tension building up. Always only partially succeeding. Because the hunger always returned at the next fierce glance thrown in her direction, or the next glimpse caught of a silky thigh when legs were crossed.

Her free hand travels to her jeans, starting to tug the garment down in a not-to-be-misinterpreted movement. But it is stilled as she feels knuckles slide past the side of her body, slowly moving their way down while lips follow their guidance as they push themselves on her throat, between her breasts, on her abdomen… She arcs up when a wet tip of tongue finds her belly-button and the hands seem to take advantage (one she aches to grant) of the movement by sliding under the fabric of the jeans, pushing the useless thing out of the way until her thighs are free. She writhes against the mattress when she feels the other woman lower herself, breath taunting her already oversensitive skin even through the fabric of her underwear.

Palms graze down the side of her legs, bringing her pants along with them as she feels the soft caress of lips against her thigh, making her cry out with the almost unbearable force of this agonizing pleasure. And then, when lips meet the throbbing, tormented knob through the silk at exactly the right time, she feels the tension build up more than she has ever been able to stand.

‘Yes…’

It’s more of a hiss than a word when she feels how the jeans are discarded and the hand moves to the edge of the silk panties she is glad she has chosen for this occasion. She pushes up her body again, trying to help the woman remove the unwanted barrier and hears a low chuckle that makes her heart jump.

But she knows the wish is the father of all thoughts and the flutter in her chest threatens to turn into the hollow feeling that always overwhelms her when she slides her fingers away from her own wetness again, the satisfaction never real, no matter how strong the orgasm has been. The emptiness of knowing she will never be touched, kissed,  _held_  by the one person she actually wants to… But fingers, hooking behind the silk and pulling it down, kisses on the junction where hip meets thigh, light touches on her calves as fingertips find their way up, fill her again with the reckless fire that had caused her to give in to the plea in anonymous texts in the first place.

Open mouthed kisses move their way up, exploring responsive spots on her abdomen and allowing teeth to, never too hard, find skin.

Her own hands now grasp the silk of the robe, pulling it with clear intention and the chuckle returns, more forgiving this time, when she whimpers at the short loss of contact. But when her lover is back, the merging sensation of skin against skin turns the sound into a moan of appreciation.

She can’t help but let her own hands wander over the woman’s smooth and perfect skin, the silky sensation of her back under her fingertips almost as good as the one of her throat against her lips. And when her lover pushes her lace-clad center against her bare one she does something she never thought she would do out of a fantasy-filled dream.

The lace tears at her abrupt movement and the gasp against her ear sounds like the most amazing melody. Tossing the, now useless, undergarment to the side, she pulls the woman closer to her, allowing their, now finally bare centers to grind against each other.

‘I’ll get you a new one…’

Its impossible not to notice the change of breathing, or maybe the blindfold is heightening her other senses, but she feels the other woman’s movements get more urged, their wetness merging, creating a slickness that is so fucking delicious it makes her want to cry.

‘Come here…’

She lets her hand slide in the crook of the woman’s neck, pulling the lips to hers, their kiss hungry but also incredibly tender and she feels a trembling take root somewhere deep inside of her. A hand slides down and she mimics the movement as their mouths stay attached in a wondrous exploration she never wants to end. Breasts pressed against her own, making her rigid nipples ache when a fingertip slides down from her bellybutton to the source of the impossible wetness.

‘Oh, yes, please yes…’

She mutters little words onto her lovers mouth, the touch so needed and yet not enough as she mirrors it again, evoking a tremor in the other woman. The slickness as she grazes the swollen knob, the slight contraction of muscles, almost tempts her to remain there. But instead she bites the woman’s bottom lip softly while moving one finger down, lingering against her entrance in a silent request for access, which is granted with a movement of hips.

The silky warmth enveloping first one, and then two fingers make her clench her jaws together in an attempt to hold off the waves she feels building up inside of her. A shivery inhale is followed by what seems involuntary moaning when she curls up her fingers and finds the ridged spot that makes the walls clasp together in response. A finger now moves inside of her too and she can’t help but push her hips forwards in reception, feeling it thrust in and out of her as she circles her own against the spot that has first tensed up and now is, rapidly, softening.

Wet fingertips slip out of her and move up, finding the enlarged bundle of nerves in a circular movement, making her cry out again, grinding against the contact.

Pressing her palm against the other woman’s clit, her fingers continuing the now frantic massage of the sensitive spot inside of her, she hears the gasp, feels it against her lips, pulling her into a stage so tense, she knows what will follow.

The fingertips seem to know her, know exactly what she needs and where she craves to be touched as they circle the pulsating knob, pushing a thigh against her hand increasing the pressure.

‘Don’t stop, please, don’t stop…’

She curls her fingers again, feeling the walls contract and the woman groans at exactly the moment she herself is pushed over the edge. Waves of pleasure ripple through her, rip her apart almost, but the hand, the lips, the body, trembling against her, oddly keep her together. Clasping her thighs around the hand, keeping the fingers in place, she feels how they draw out contraction after contraction, keeping a slow pace of the circular movement that is driving her crazy. She makes her own fingers slide out of the woman’s tightened walls, afraid she will hurt her if she’d wait, but allows them to slide up, finding the sensitive button that immediately responds to her touch.

‘Oh…’

The outcry makes her gasp and pushes her into a second orgasm immediately as she presses her center against her lover’s slowly circling fingers, trying to prevent crying out herself when she feels the surge of wetness against her thigh. Her fingers move, hurriedly, against her lover’s clit, which is jerking as she presses her fingers tight against it, trying to withdraw every last wave of pleasure the woman is riding. Every pull of the woman’s body brings ripples of delight to her own, raging through her, making her cling onto her lover as if she is a lifeline as she does cry out again. The feelings coursing through her simply too much to hold in…

The gasp that follows sounds like a sob and when the woman in her arms goes rigid, Emma realizes her mistake.

Because she has not cried out just anything, she cried out a name. The name of the woman she sees, every time she closes her eyes. The woman she yearns for, in every possible way.

Yet it crushes her when she feels her lover pull back, the consequence, she knows, of her own stupidity. Of her giving in to the fantasy of being wanted by the woman she was in love with. Of not just being wanted, but maybe being loved, a desire she should have known to give up long ago.

She reaches for the blindfold, but for the first time, her hands are stopped, fingers smelling like her own arousal now trembling in sadness, she knows, in fear, it seems, instead of in desire.

‘Shit… I’m…’

But before she can finish the apology, soft lips find hers in a kiss  _so_ incredibly tender it squeezes her heart, pulls the organ up, making it thump loudly against her chest in an attempt to exit it.

For it is a kiss filled with the love she has just for the first time in her life fully admitted to crave. Quivering fingertips entwine in her hair and a tear, making Emma’s heart wrench, meanders down the hand she has covered the woman’s cheek with, pulling her closer, enveloping herself in this feeling of being loved she does not deserve but can’t possibly repel.

She doesn’t notice it, the tugs of the knots, until they are undone, the woman pulling back from her, allowing her to take away the blindfold at will. But she catches the forearm and tugs the woman back before she does so, her arms sliding around the now fragile shoulders. Grazing the woman’s temple with her knuckles, she slowly reels her in, returning the tenderness of the kiss, the gift, she has just received in one of her own.

She feels the velvet slide away from her eyes and keeps them closed just that tiny moment longer, until soft fingertips find her cheek and whisper a word against her mouth.

It is strange, because she knows, for a fact, these syllables have never passed these nectar-sweet lips before. So it  _is_  strange, impossible even, that she recognizes the owner of the voice, by the hoarse, emotion-filled, hardly audible whisper of them.

‘Emma.’

Her eyes shoot open and fill themselves with tears as she starts to tremble, echoing the movement of the hands still covering her cheeks. The impossible dark eyes look at her in the emotion she hasn’t allowed herself to ever dare dream of. They are silent for a long time, simply staring at the other, their breath and heartbeats finding the same pace.

Then, she allows the name to fall of her lips, tasting the truth of her fantasy as she leans in for a kiss.

‘Regina…’

 

THE END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are magic!


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